Honor
by Brynneth
Summary: The sequel to my other Zevran/Nathaniel story, "Heirloom".  Zevran continues to unravel Nathaniel's past and forces him to face another inner demon.


**Title: **Honor

**Characters: **Zevran, Nathaniel

**Rating: **AO

**Summary: **Zevran continues to unravel Nathaniel's past and forces him to face another inner demon. Sequel to Heirloom.

_This is darker than most of my fluffy romances. I have found that I simply cannot write Nathaniel as anything but a complex man dealing with many demons from his past. Naive, cheerful Alistair, he ain't. So, every time I start to write a story with a tender Nathaniel, he glares at me with that sullen look of his. It's not that he's not capable of being gentle, but there's just too many issues for him to work out first. As such, this ficlet contains some BDSM, and I apologize if that offends my usual readers. If it's not your thing, feel free to move on. Otherwise, enjoy and thanks for reading this sequel to _Heirloom_._

Elissa Cousland absolutely _hated _the paperwork that came with being an Arlessa. She wanted to be out in the training yard working with the recruits or spending time with Anders doing really naughty things. Anything was preferable to sitting behind a desk, looking over reports from the Banns. She sighed and dropped her head to the desk, wondering if she could make herself fall asleep and use that as an excuse to avoid any more tedious reading. Fortunately, she was given a better excuse when her office door opened, admitting a lithe elf who promptly draped himself on the chair in front of her desk. He swung a well-tanned muscular leg over the arm of the chair and leisurely began twirling a throwing knife around his fingers.

"Ahh, _here_ is my favorite Warden Commander, caught napping! Is it _that_ boring, my dear?" He grinned devilishly at her grimace.

"You know it is, Zevran. When did I ever like dealing with paperwork? And am I not the _only_ Warden Commander?" She glared at him with the same steely look that made most of the new recruits shiver in fear, but her blue eyes were filled with mirth. She and Zevran went _way_ back, after all.

"So then, you must be my favorite one, hmm?" He made a show of looking around the small room. "And where is your handsome mage? Let him do some of the work, and then you both can go have some playtime, no?"

Elissa shook her head ruefully. "Anders... do paperwork? If I let him anywhere near this desk, the Keep would be out of food within three days, the wrong people would be thrown in jail, and the Banns would feel insulted about something that Anders would never even remember. Oh, and templars everywhere would be hanged in public."

"That might not be a _bad_ thing." Zevran laughed and ducked as Elissa threw an empty bottle of ink at him.

"What are you doing here anyway, Zev? Aren't you supposed to be working with the recruits this afternoon instead of lounging in my office?"

"Our wonderful recruits are currently practicing how to do simple repairs on their armor, courtesy of our esteemed blacksmith, Wade." The Antivan chuckled. "They do not live up to his standards, of course."

Elissa burst out in gales of laughter at the thought of the touchy artisan criticizing the work of the amateurs. "How cruel of you to leave them alone with Wade. You know he will absolutely rip those poor men to shreds." She glanced down at her desk thoughtfully, then decided to take the chance of bringing up a different subject. "Now why are you here with me instead of with Nate?" She hoped her smile looked completely innocent.

Zevran grinned, completely unabashed. "I wondered when you would finally say something about that. Nothing escapes your notice, does it?"

"We're a pretty tight-knit family, Zev. I'm not the only one who notices the change in Nathaniel whenever you're around. To be honest, I'm relieved and happy to see him relax a little." She sighed and gazed out the window. "You can't imagine what he was like when we found him, Zev. He was a brittle shell covering a world of hurt, and he lashed out at anything that moved. I must admit, I really disliked him at first. But then we got to know each other during all the trials we went through over the next several months. He never seemed to get over his bitterness at his father, but becoming a Warden definitely suited him. It gives him the sense of honor and respect he craves and insulates him from his former world." She shook her head in frustration. "The nobles are horrible to him, Zev. All they see is Rendon's son, not Nathaniel himself. He avoids them now."

"Nobles are always blind to everything except their petty preconceived notions, my dear." Zevran ran his thumb absently along the edge of the knife. "Nathaniel carries many demons, but this is something a Crow is familiar with, no? I will do what I can, if he will allow it."

"I just want him whole, Zevran. He's next in-command after Alistair, and he's my friend. From what I've seen, you've already done him a world of good. And no, I don't need any descriptions of what you did." She rolled her eyes as Zevran laughed.

"As you wish, Commander." He stood and bowed deeply, flourishing the knife. "You truly don't know what you're missing, however." He winked slyly at Elissa and left, humming softly to himself. The Arlessa sighed and shook her head. Secretly, she hoped that whatever was happening between the assassin and Nathaniel was something that would continue to grow. If anyone could turn the moody rogue around, it was Zevran.

#####

Nathaniel cursed under his breath as the bear fled the clearing, his arrow having flown wide of its mark. Maker, but his aim was terribly off this day. He rarely returned to the Keep with nothing, but tonight there would be no fresh meat. The sun was sinking lower in the sky, and he needed to think about starting back. He would rest first, however. Days he was able to spend hunting were uncommon, and he relished the solitude of the forest. He placed his treasured Howe bow on the ground and shucked off the quiver of arrows. Sitting with his back to an oak, he raised his face to the flickers of sun drifting through the leaves above. Frustration at losing his quarry drained away, and he allowed his thoughts to wander. He knew why he was so distracted, of course. His mind was constantly circling around the image of a particular Antivan assassin, around the images of that assassin in his bed doing rather private things. He allowed himself a small smile; only two weeks with the elf and he was behaving like a besotted paramour.

The smile turned to a pained grimace as his thoughts moved down a darker path. Why was Zevran spending so much time with him anyway? He was nothing but a rogue with a sullied family name, despised by everyone outside of Vigil's Keep. If it weren't for the Commander's mercy, he would probably already be dead, thanks to his father's traitorous deeds. He had proved himself to the Wardens and earned their grudging respect, but to anyone else, he was only a Howe, the darkest name in Ferelden at the moment. He chuckled dryly, remembering the Queen's fury that he had been recruited to the Wardens instead of being beheaded. Even when they were young, he had always disliked Anora with her snobby attitude.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Zevran didn't care about his name, and he knew this. He was _grateful _for this. Unfortunately, there was still much about Nathaniel that Zevran didn't know, and Nathaniel was afraid to let the assassin see the darker side of himself. Eventually however, his control would slip, and he didn't think he could bear to see the Antivan's reaction when it did. He clenched his fists in agony, as a familiar wave of black rage swept over him. Why had his father left so many marks on his son? Could he ever be truly free from the damage done to him by a dead man?

Lost in tormenting thoughts, Nathaniel failed to notice the stealthy approach of an intruder. As he felt another body slam against his, he cursed himself and struggled to grab his dagger. The attacker was far too swift, however, barely a blur as strong arms locked around Nate's biceps, pulling his arms behind him. As the rogue tried to kick back, he was hauled to his knees with his chest arched back as the other man tightened his grip.

"Stand up, _now_." The command was whispered, harsh and cold. Thinking to throw the attacker off after he had more balance, Nathaniel obeyed. Before he could even think to move, he was shoved face first against the rough trunk of the oak. Immediately, a knife was pressed to his throat, the cold edge resting lightly against his skin.

"Wrap your arms around the tree, please." The whisper was a hot breath against the nape of his neck and actually sounded almost amused. The rogue fought the urge to turn against the knife and face this bastard. Keeping his breath even, he focused on looking for a chance to knock his opponent back while placing both arms around the trunk.

"Very good. I am going to tie your hands together. You will try to attack back, I'm sure, but be warned that this knife I hold is coated with a very rare, deadly poison. Only a scratch will cause your body to seize within seconds, and your throat will constrict, cutting off your breath. You will die in a mere few minutes as you slowly choke to death. If you hold still, you will not be harmed." Nate frowned slightly. The whisper held a familiar cadence, one he felt he should know.

A hand on the back of his skull turned his head and pressed his cheek flat against the tree. As the man began to move around the tree behind him, he felt the knife slowly drawn across the back of his neck and down his shoulder and arm, never losing contact with his skin. Nate slid his gaze as far to the side as he could, struggling for a glimpse of his attacker, but the intruder carefully stayed out of sight behind the trunk. He felt his hands pressed together, and within seconds, they were bound tightly. The cold metal of the knife was finally withdrawn, and the attacker stepped into view in front of him. Nathaniel's eyes widened in shock.

"_Zevran?_ What in the name of the _Maker_ are you doing?" Fury flooded every muscle in his body, and he strained backward against the ropes that bound his hands. It was useless, of course. The former Crow was far too adept at tying knots and binding his victims. Nathaniel glared at the elf, practically spitting in his rage. "Why are you attacking me? You could have killed me a hundred times by now if that was what you so dearly wanted!"

The assassin calmly approached his lover and stroked his cheek gently. "My dear Warden, I do apologize for taking this tactic. I am not here to kill you, nor even to wound you. I wish to talk, and as crude as this method is, it _does_ keep you from running away from me." He trailed his fingers back into Nathaniel's hair, smoothing it back soothingly. "I promise you will have your chance to pay me back for this later, but for now, I only wish to talk." His amber eyes peered intently into Nate's.

"We can talk without you putting a knife to my throat and tying me up," Nathaniel hissed. "Not to mention threatening me with poison!"

"I assure you that this knife is perfectly clean, _mi amigo_. I had to be sure you would not fight back while I tied you. Again, my sincere apologies, but you will understand shortly why I'm doing this." He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against Nate's. Even as angry as he was, the rogue couldn't repress a shudder of desire. "You hide things from me, Nathaniel." His name sounded like a velvet caress when spoken in Zevran's heavy Antivan accent. "You repress certain... urges, yes?" Nate's eyes widened slightly. "You think I don't notice this, but I am... practiced in these things, my Warden. You feel these desires as a darkness inside of you, thinking they make you as evil as your father was, no?"

Nate turned his face into the tree, clenching his eyes shut. Maker, how did this elf _know_ these things? Shame washed over him like a cold downpour of rain. He couldn't deny the accuracy of Zevran's statements. He totally blamed Rendon for instilling a predisposition for violence inside of him. These urges were carefully repressed, however. No lover he had taken had ever felt even a drop of the wildness that burned in his blood; he would not allow himself to cause harm. Images surfaced in his mind, memories of his father ordering servants to be whipped while his son reluctantly watched. He had never doubted that his past experiences under the direction of the elder Howe were the root cause of his aberrant wishes. _Another outstanding Howe legacy_, he thought bitterly. _In the end, I am no better than he is_.

He felt a soft breeze as the elf moved behind him. He heard the sound of tearing fabric, then felt the warm air of the late afternoon brush his back. He turned his head quickly to the side to see Zevran standing back slightly, holding the knife and admiring Nathaniel's bare back, his tunic cut apart. "Zevran, what in Andraste's... "

The elf put a finger to Nate's lips. "You fear that you harbor evil inside of you, Nathaniel. You let this fear shape your conception of yourself, and thus, you avoid others in your shame. You hold back what you truly feel, and you live in a cage of your own making. I intend to convince you that what you fee... is not wrong in any way." There was the sound of more movement behind him.

"Causing another person pain of any kind is wrong, Zevran," growled Nathaniel. "I will _not_ become my father."

His lover sighed and touched his shoulder. "You are_ not_ Rendon Howe; you are _Nathaniel_. I think it's past time you learn the difference." The rogue felt something smooth, hard, and thin caress his back. "Do you believe I am evil, Nate?" The assassin's voice was both curious and detached.

"Of course not! You kill people, but that is your job. You know I don't hold that against you." Nathaniel's breath hitched slightly as the thin object moved up his spine to stroke the back of his neck. A knot of nervousness mixed with desire coiled low in his stomach. He had a sudden revelation of what was coming.

"I am glad to hear it, _mi amigo_, because I have truly enjoyed our time together." He felt Zevran's warm breath against his ear, and shivered involuntarily. "It can be more enjoyable if you will allow it. But first, I think we need to be rid of some misconceptions that are clearly troubling you." The elf's tongue darted out and licked the curve of Nathaniel's ear. "Choose a word, my Warden."

Nate's heart began to race. He had never participated in anything requiring a safeword, but he was familiar with the concept and the need for one. Strangely, he felt no fear, only a rising excitement mixed with intense desire. Disgust at this desire warred with anticipation. "Honor," he whispered.

"Ahh." The warmth of Zevran's body disappeared as the assassin moved away. "An interesting choice, that, and not surprising coming from you. Since you did not ask me, I assume you know the rules of this game and when to use the safeword." The rogue nodded slowly, swallowing hard. A piercing hiss rent the air, and Nathaniel felt a sharp puff of air against his back. "Do you know what I hold, Nathaniel?" So gentle, the voice that spoke his name like a caress.

"Yes," responded Nate. How could he not recognize a sound he had heard so many times as a boy? He turned his face against the rough bark of the tree but made no move to struggle against the bonds wrapped securely around his wrists. He didn't understand yet why Zevran was doing this, but he could not deny that it aroused him, as well as shamed him.

"I thought you might," murmured Zevran quietly. "If you need your word, use it _mi amigo_. I will desist immediately, I promise you." Another sharp hiss, and a stripe of pure fire flared across the middle of his back. Nathaniel gasped and arched back against the terrible burn of the cane. His fingers dug into the tree, gouging marks in the bark. At the same time, heat swelled between his legs, and he felt a familiar bulge beginning to form in his pants. _No, Maker, no_.

The thought was interrupted as another lash rained down on his back, a few inches lower than the first. He gritted his teeth and bowed his forehead against the tree as sweat began to bead on his brow. Almost unconsciously, he pressed his growing erection against the tree. His body shuddered, and he could hear his own breathing, ragged and uneven. He almost jumped as he felt calloused fingers tracing the quickly forming welts.

"I must say that these marks are quite... enticing." Wet heat licked over the sting, coaxing a soft moan from Nate. Hard fingers slipped into his waistband and shoved his trousers down. As the elf stepped closer, he could feel Zevran's hardness pressing against him. "Am I evil _now_, Nathaniel?"

The rogue was gasping with the intensity of too many conflicting emotions. "Devilish, yes. Evil... no." Zevran's tongue was continuing to trace the raised lines on his skin. "Zev... _please_."

The Antivan chuckled softly. "Please, what? More pain, _mi amigo_?" Again, he moved away, and Nate groaned at the loss of warmth. He braced himself for the next blow but was still unprepared as the next lash lanced across his bare buttocks. A sharp cry of pain and pleasure ripped from his mouth as his back bowed. The burn funneled its way forward, causing his member to ache with need. The bark scraped roughly against the length of him, creating even more exquisite pain. Dear Maker, he felt like he was cracking apart from every seam.

Two more swift blows came hard, one after the other. The first created another welt across the tight skin of his rear. The second fell directly on the softer skin of his thighs, just below the bottom crease of his ass, _dangerously_ close to the vulnerable sac of flesh between his legs. Helpless with the onslaught of sensation, Nathaniel sank to his knees moaning in submission, not to the assassin, but to the realization that_ this _was who he was. No amount of denial could erase the evidence that was so plain to see. And not only did it not turn Zevran _away_, it aroused him just as much as Nathaniel. Zevran _wanted_ this, just as much as Nate.

He felt gentle fingers releasing his bonds, and he fell to his hands and knees, head bowed as the stinging pain continued to send delicious aches through his body. Warm hands caressed his back and buttocks, both soothing and stimulating the welts. He could hear Zevran's voice speaking softly in Antivan as the elf licked and caressed each stripe of pain. He groaned and pressed himself back against Zevran, pleased to find that the elf had shed his pants. His fingers curled into the dirt as the assassin brushed his erection against the slit between Nathaniel's buttocks.

"Zevran, _please_. I _need_ you." The words tore from his throat, hoarse with desire. He shuddered as Zevran bit down on the welt across his right buttock, and leaned his head back, mouth agape with pleasure. The elf moved back momentarily to grasp a vial of oil he had laid nearby. Hands shaking with his own desire, Zevran swiftly slicked his length. Gripping Nathaniel's hips in a bruising vise, he drove hard into the rogue, guessing correctly that Nate was too far gone to care about any preparation. Both men groaned as Zevran held himself still, fully buried inside his lover. The assassin reached forward and gripped Nathaniel's hair firmly in his fist, pulling the rogue's head back. Using the grip as leverage, his other hand grasping Nate's hip, Zevran began to slowly thrust, withdrawing completely with each move before snapping his hips forward again roughly. Nathaniel grunted as each thrust shoved them both forward, and his arms shook with their combined weight. Then Zevran changed his angle, and each thrust brushed against that _spot_. Bolts of pleasure shot through his pelvis, and Nathaniel cried out as the Antivan brushed his thumb against a welt in rhythm with his thrusts.

"Zev... Maker, _Zev_!" He heard a rough groan behind him, and then the elf was pulsing deep inside him. The hand in his hair released its grip, and Zevran reached around his waist and grasped Nate's length, stroking hard. A wild cry erupted from deep within Nathaniel's throat, and spots of color danced against his eyelids as he spilled himself into the assassin's hand. He crumpled forward, his forehead resting against the dirt as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm. Warm arms encircled his waist, and he felt the Antivan pulling him down to his side. They both lay quietly, Zevran pressed into his back, arms holding him close.

"You did not use your word." The assassin's tone was light and questioning.

"No." He understood now why Zevran had done this and what the elf was truly asking here. Zevran had taken the role of aggressor, the role that Nathaniel considered evil and had given Nathaniel the opportunity to stop it. But the rogue had not used his safeword, had not stopped what Zevran was doing, because he _liked_ it. What the Antivan had done was done not out of malice, but done because he cared about the rogue. And that was the difference. It was _all_ the difference, and Nathaniel finally realized that.

"Zev?"

"Hmm?" The assassin was running Nathaniel's thick dark locks through his fingers.

"Thank you." The words escaped in a rush of embarrassment. He could only hope the elf knew what he really meant.

"No thanks are necessary, my Warden. I think we need to get a bath, however. The forest does not exactly make a clean bed. And I think we should apply some poultices to your back." There was a clear note of amusement in Zevran's voice.

"No." Nate shook his head vehemently. "Let the marks... stay. Please." He turned his head to look Zevran in the eye.

The assassin raised the corner of his mouth. "As you wish, _mi amigo_. I assume there is a stream nearby?"

"Yes." Nate stood and extended a hand to the elf. When Zevran was next to him, he pulled the Antivan into a passionate kiss, biting at Zevran's lower lip as he pulled back. "You _do_ realize that I'm going to pay you back for attacking me, don't you?"

The assassin grinned. "I most certainly hope so. In fact, I'm counting on it."


End file.
